


Green-Eyed

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, Green Eyes, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 20:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15614679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Can I have some sweet Till? As in, the reader and him go out for the day, something bad happens and they have to come back, and Till comforts them?'Remember - treat celebrities you encounter in the wild with respect.





	Green-Eyed

“Excuse me?”

You smile to yourself, taking a sip of your lemonade as Till looks up wearily through his shades. Usually your presence is a deterrent to all but the real loonies, but today it seems that someone has found strength in numbers – three girls are standing around your table, and you glance them up and down. Two Rammstein shirts and one Mastodon; one of them has dyed-magenta hair – very cute – and another has an All Time Low beanie on. They look to be about… twenty-to-twenty-five. The usual, you think, and resume drinking your drink as they chatter to Till, who looks as if he’d rather be on the moon. Maybe you’ll even offer to take the picture if they all want one. It’s part and parcel.

“…and the first album I ever bought with my own money was Reise Reise!” Pink-Hair beams, and clears her throat. “Uh… can I get a selfie?”

“Of course,” Till said, gruffly, and she bends down next to him; you roll your eyes, and mouth ‘stand up’ to him, and he ignores you pointedly as she takes the photo.

“Can I get one? If I’m not interrupting,” All-Time-Low asks anxiously, and you shake your head.

“Not at all,” you reassure her, and she scuttles to Till’s side, smiling anxiously as she takes her picture. You don’t know why they don’t just take ones of each other, but you guess they might be a little nervous.

“Uh… can you say hi to Richard from me?” she asks. “M-my name’s Abby. Just say I really admire him as a guitarist, o-okay?”

“Sure,” Till says, just as gruffly, and you kick him under the table.

Next up is Mastodon, and she grins.

“Abs, take a picture!” she grins, and what happens next makes you blink in surprise; she sits on Till’s knee, and drapes her hands around his shoulders as if she’s clinging on. “Will you kiss my cheek?”

Till doesn’t look particularly shocked – more perturbed, and he shakes his head, but he does put his arm around her back, and you grit your jaw a little. All-Time-Low takes the picture, looking a little wide-eyed, and Pink-Hair giggles.

“Em, you’re so awful…”

She leaps up, kisses Till’s cheek before he can react, and then they scurry off, yelling ‘thank you!’ – you stare after them, and Till huffs in irritation, shaking his head.

“<For fuck’s sake,>” he mutters, and you look down into your lemonade. You never quite realised how jealous it could make you, the fact that people consider your man public property.

“Tillie, I want to go home.”

“ _Was?_ ” he says, distractedly, and you shake your head.

“Can we go home?”

“Of course, my beautiful,” he says, and then pauses. “Are you okay?”

You stand up and march for the car. You’re not mad at him, as per se – you’re mad at her. He can’t stop fans like that – as much as it’s harassment from them, one bad word from a fan could mess with Rammstein irreparably. But you just… wish that he wasn’t considered a public resource? You suppose? You’re repeating yourself to yourself. You climb into the car, and try to swallow the tears back.

But as soon as you get through the door, they overwhelm you – you break down sobbing, and Till catches you in confusion, staring at you.

“Sweetheart, is this about that girl?” he asks, and you nod, clinging to him. Your thumb brushes his cheek – you’re trying to wipe that stupid girl’s mouth off of him, you think, and realise you’re being very petty – and he cradles you. “Oh, sweetheart. She was just a fan. They do that sort of thing… too much.”

“I know.” You swallow. “I just… damn it, you’re mine. How rude, to do that in front of me.” You snuffle, and he gently guides you to the living room, sitting down on the sofa and holding you tightly to his chest. “I feel so stupid. She was like… twelve.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, bemusedly, and you smile against him, feeling your tears run down his leather jacket. “Oh, sweetheart. I hate it. I wish we could go somewhere and nobody would bother me sometimes. But it is part of it. But I have a point for you.” You nod, and he begins to stroke your hair. “Who is it that comes to my apartment, beautiful?”

“Me.”

“Who is it that stays in my apartment?”

“Me.”

“And who is it whose hair I’m stroking right now?”

“Me…” You smile.

“And who will I carry to bed and make love to if I want to? Which I do.” His voice is now teasing, and you look up into those beautiful green eyes, smiling.

“It better be me.”

“You are correct. How astute.” He boops your nose with one of those big fingers, and you giggle. “Come here…” He stands up and scoops you into his arms, and you yelp. “I have a green-eyed monster in my bed. I must kiss her.”


End file.
